


Don't get used to it, this is a special day !

by Al_D_Baran



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Exhibitionism, Lemon, M/M, Public Sex, Roleplay, Sexting, Smut, canonverse, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_D_Baran/pseuds/Al_D_Baran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Francis have been dating for a long time, and now, Arthur decides his lover could use a little surprise, and yet, let himself be taken by the game too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Well... this was supposed to be a fic for Valentine's Day but... I might've have no skills or whatsoever when it comes to being on time. Eh. Sorrey. Anyway, I dedicace this to my dear Yanna, because force of rping with her, my Arthur might've gotten some of hers... not like I mind at all !

There were a few laughters in the shop. Oh yes, this was incredibly funny, wasn't it ? Those decrepit and bored middle-aged women hadn't had such a laugh in so long, it seemed. Arthur seemed silently, pushing his knees together in meager attempts to hide his crotch. This wouldn't do. The... _the bottom piece_ was too short, and barely even started to hide the soft curve at the start of his ass. The frilly lace was making his skin itch too, but when his eyes fell on the other options... The shiny leather of the nurse outfit didn't really made the pit of his stomach any better. Things he did for love, really... Francis didn't even start to give him enough credit. That damned asshole.

Nonetheless, looking back to himself in the mirror, Arthur felt his chest tighten in a somewhat... odd way. Perhaps his pride was crumbling upon itself at the sight of his clothes, and Arthur could understand it. Neither he had ever believed he'd see himself in such a position, and his heart thumped at his chest; an uncomfortable warmth spread on his back. But who could blame him to have such an idea ? He had been scrolling on twitter, reading Feliciano's tweets—which he posted there because well, Ludwig was just as technophobe as Francis was—and had thought he could... not _steal_ because that was not only a harsh word, but a preposterous idea, but... _inspire_ from his ideas. Ludwig enjoyed leather. Francis had seemed a little under the weather recently, and the idea of Francis being sad grated at Arthur's nerves. If once it could've made him happy, nowadays, after they had passed so many hardships together since the dawn of time, Arthur felt a fondness for him that pushed him to such ridiculous and perverted extremes.

Hence, why he was standing in the dressing room of a lingerie shop, which seemed to act as a part-time sex shop. And worse: dressed in a depraved, French maid-inspired outfit Even if he certainly wasn't innocent, the view of the very large, plastic and obvious things made him a little uncomfortable. There had been such things since the dawn of time, Arthur had seen a fair share of such things, but to hear the buzzing of them as the pack of middle-aged, fat cougars roared in laughter and commented on it, he wished he could've be done with it. The costume wasn't the one he thought might do. His boxers came out from under it, and his eyes darted to the leather-like, shiny nurse outfit. His surprise needed to be perfect. If Arthur wasn't as natural when it came to sexual things, he was at least, very perfectionist. 

Taking out his cellphone, his fingers automatically led him to Francis' and him's last conversation. Something about bringing back some milk, and driving safely. Arthur scoffed at the many hearts and kisses his husband would put everywhere, even if it felt nice to see a little “ _je t'embrasses_ ”, “ _bisous_ ” or “ _mon lapin_ ” every where between the less feelings-filled words. Arthur had replied he wasn't a bunny. Francis had said something about sex. Arthur had stopped answering out of annoyance. Enter the “>” and a few more of them chatting. Arthur didn't dare to talk about a surprise, even if to imagine Francis prancing in anticipation brought a smile to his face, which he quickly turned into a pinched pout. Monsieur Bonnefoy and his damned, enticing child-like manners could be damned.

Letting the phone back on the stool, Arthur looked over at himself again, trying to avoid looking at his own face. Like this, he didn't had to face reality just yet, and he'd rather realize that _wow he had actually fucking done it_ while pleasantly hammered by sex, and Francis passed out snoring on his back for a few minutes, before he'd come back to himself, and start licking his ear and purr loving words against his lobe. Oh. God. The vision was giving him shivers. Damn Francis Bonnefoy and his loving manners. Arthur tip-toed, groping his chest after thoroughly looking to see whether there was a camera anywhere or not, and tried to shyly lift the hem of the skirt to show how just... _grotesque_ his sack looked in a pair of small panties. At least it wasn't the ridiculous of a tong but... the fabric was vaguely moulding the form of his genitals.

Nothing _fucking Francis Bonnefoy_ would care about, but Arthur Kirkland cared about every details, and was even more self-concious when he heard old women laugh. He felt as if he was chosing the bad way. It was too obvious... Francis had been around little French maids with better arses than his for... just about a few damn centuries. He had had the time to make lewd girls with more androgynous features he'd ever dream to have—not that he dreamed, no... Francis' gentle words only _slightly_ eased his pain about being nowhere near manly as he was—, and decided to undress, and try to fit inside of the latex-leather-something of the nurse one. It was an hard task: if the soft fabric of the maid dress stretching to accommodate his body—which, while not as large and strong and sturdy as many men, was not yet small and delicate enough to fit nicely in those clothes made for cheap sex between pornstars—was firm and he feared to break it.

And with this one on, he felt even more exposed than naked. The dress was just a bit longer, covering his sack and cock a bit better, but not bit much. The costume left him a very limited range of movement, and Arthur made the mistake to look at himself in the eyes, and realized he looked just as depraved as Francis, and bashfully looked down with a pitiful, desperate whine. _That wasn't the worst_. His dignity was left behind, completely violated and swollen and broken, and yet, he still thought more about if Francis would like this better than the other dress. 

If Francis ever wondered again if he truly loved him, he would punch his damn perfect white teeth of off his damn fucking mouth.

The problem was still the same, and Arthur had another one again. The nurse would require to... well, play dirty. If he wanted everything to perfectly go according to the plan he had been carefully planning for so long, and no one would ruin it. Not even himself. The Briton was despairing, and quickly realized he knew little of Francis' preferences, and felt bitterness come to his mouth. When had been the last time he had agreed to play with his lover's need rather than just fulfilling his plain one ? Francis never complained. But... Arthur felt a little guilty now. Everything was always going his way, and if, in rare and scarce occasion, Francis tried to convince him to go his way and spice up their sexual life, Arthur would spend more time hesitating than they would have having sex. Which was saying something regarding the Frenchman's impossibly high stamina.

Maybe Francis did deserve to have something nice.

And... about nice, Arthur knew he couldn't play dirty. And whatever he would do, Francis would like it. Unsure, the Briton looked back to his cellphone, and flipped the screen and closed his eyes... and then gave up, and swiftly flicked it back to the text screen, and selected Franics, and let his fingers graze the plastic keyboard of the BlackBerry, looking to the letters and kisses emoticons and loving loved words, unsure if he wanted to ask him or not, and changed again, deciding that shyness was enough, and changed to the maid on again, feeling more better now that the leather wasn't keeping him from breathing.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we see Francis Bonnefoy with his natural, mating crest getting up at the lewd call of his partner, the Iggynosaurus boringus. Sexting ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow fuck tomorrow because if there's not good stuff, no one is gonna like it soooo. Hopefully, y'all will enjoy this !

The meeting with his president was boring enough that Francis had started to drift off early in the... three ? four ? five hours or more. What were they even discussing and arguing about ? And for what was he needed ? Really, couldn't this guy do like the last one, and pass everything in his back ? Ah, good old times ! He had been over-presented with holidays so much that, for the first time in his life, Francis had actually been bored enough to _want_ to work. Arthur had been convinced he was sick and had caught something weird. The now normal rhythm he had was weird, nonetheless. To be there, tie and Armani suit—a very pricy gift from Feliciano, for his last birthday—, very formal and to just be there to hear about the accord was weird nonetheless. The other part— _Arthur_ , to add to the irony of the thing—had refused to come.

And now Francis was knowing boredom like he hadn't known since before television was invented, and before Arthur Kirkland appeared and was so easy to anger and tease. It was saying something, at least. Drilling his pen over a sheet of paper, and looking around the windows of the tall buildings of Paris, wondering if anyone was using a Xerox machine to photocopy their butt, and especially wondering what Arthur was doing. It was Valentine's Day. Suddenly, he stopped, in the same kind of horror one would've if they had forgot to turn the stove burner off. _He wasn't trying to cook, was he ?_ An horrible taste came to his mouth; something like bile and burnt scones, and Francis was tempted to take his phone out and text the Briton not to cook. Whatever he did, to stay at least five meters away from his brand new kitchen.

If the Briton thought him to be oblivious, Francis wasn't. Arthur had been oddly secretive recently, and far to guess it to be an adulterous relationship—after all, Emilio was with Johann, and... who would be with Arthur besides him anyway ? It was as if the one who couldn't bear to spend five minutes of a normal conversation with the angry Brit was the only one able to stand him for more than a minute if he started to speak. Arthur wasn't mean. He was just... disagreeable. In an oddly affectionate way. Francis smiled at the idea of being an idiot now, and couldn't wait to be home to coo against his darling's ear about how he'd make him a good chocolate cake; filled with some tasty vanilla. It was Valentine's Day after all. And it Francis had mourned and buried to be especially romantic today, he could at least make them a grandiose dessert.

When his phone vibrated in his pocket, Francis looked to both politicians and pulled it out to look who was texting him, and felt his eyes widen as he saw “12873263637383.jpg”. What. He double-checked, unsure if he had read right. This was Arthur's name... All right. He wasn't going to say Arthur was just as technological impaired as he was but... Arthur _was_ rather catastrophic when it came to most things. Almost everything. Everything, in fact... He wasn't there, and couldn't read his thoughts ! Francis reminded himself he could think what he want, and Arthur's thoughts about him were probably just as vicious, if not more than his. Nonetheless opening the conversation, the Frenchman felt his mouth drop. Was this real ? He had awaited a picture of some Doctor Who merchandise, and to see a text following saying “do we have enough to buy this ?” as a somewhat polite, subtle way to ask for a gift, but now this...

The text that followed read as follow: “Do you like it ?”

And well... looking at the picture, Francis didn't knew if he didn't like it, but stood up and excused himself, knowing this wasn't a situation to deal with in public, and walked outside. After all, he wasn't needed there. Who cared if he didn't come back ? Those men could deal with his absence, as he had something far more important, and get both surprised and giddy at the sight. Arthur had purposefully hidden his face, and showed a very... _interesting_ position and outfit, to say the least. The style was an obviously pricier thing than a random, supermarket Halloween costume, and the Brit had joined his knees together. The mid-thigh socks were held by a lovely, frilly suspender, and Arthur's hand—which was wearing a just as frilly cuff—lifted the short dress to show his crotch. It was candid, innocent. Francis had seen far worse, but coming from _Arthur_... 

The photo didn't show much. There was a deep red curtain behind him, and the cabin seemed to be made of black melamine, and the mirror was dirty enough to blur the picture. Probably something the Briton had chosen on purpose... walking in his empty office, Francis locked the door behind him, and finally wrote back, a little worried.

“Of course I like it. I always loved cute litte maids ! ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥”

There was a silence, just enough time for Francis to sit back in his chair, and get comfortable, and pull his tie lose to ease his breathing. Excitement wasn't something he often experienced, especially not with someone like Arthur. The Briton lived better when his life was devoid of exciting prospects, and it was a shame. The last time they had tried something new in the bedroom, Arthur had ended up half-way refusing to continue, thinking that his hand couldn't fit there. Aware that respecting boundaries came before a aching erection, Francis had reassured him and told him it was fine—no, really, it was. Arthur felt little curiosity toward the many experiences someone could have with sex, as much as Francis wondered how things felt. Even to have him top was difficult... Both him and the Englishman loved it, and yet, even when he was _obviously_ feeling very good during the act, Arthur reverted to being unsure to be able to pleasure him.

One couldn't really blame it on Arthur. The poor man had been a virgin before he had spent a few decades drunk out of his mind on the deck of a ship, sailing the Caribbeans and sinking _his_ ship particularly, and losing his cherry—if he could say it like that—on the white sand of Nassau with a lovely black girl, Francis being a few feet away. Nowadays, the image of Arthur being so drunk that he had gave the woman at least five times too much money, rolling on his back with groans indicating his half-consciousness, Francis had felt pity for her, and had decided to step in and woo her, leaving the fearsome, fearless and cruel Captain Kirkland to sleep the wine and rum off, dead drunk with this feet in the water, cock still out of his pants.

Truly, a work of art in many ways.

Arthur seemed to be febrile with excitation as he answered; there was a few mistakes here and there, but nothing he couldn't read easily: “I have been bad, master.” Francis' eyes widened at the sight of the word. Wow. Was Arthur, his lover who seemed to be perpetually stuck in an innocent virgin mind, was now telling him he had been _bad_ ? And calling him _master_ ? Francis began to wonder if someone else was typing the words, and pulled his tie completely off hurriedly, his heart rate speeding up at the same time his temperature reached higher than the beaches of Côte d'Azur. There was really something about this—Francis had never thought he'd enjoy this so much, as he had never been that much into dominating someone. What he enjoyed the most, was to please and love. Not that dominating and loving were two different things that could never meet but... Arthur seemed to enjoy being loved far better than when he became a little less well... gentle.

Another picture came up. This time, Arthur had leaned against a small wall next to the curtain, cheeks redder than a field of poppies, pushing the curtain open just enough to show an unsuspecting woman scrolling through bras in the background, while Arthur had pulled the white cotton panties down, showing his half-hard cock. The dress had been unlaced and pulled down to show his chest, and the whole display had a deliciously depraved mood to all of it, and now, there was a little smile of the small portion Arthur had included of his face. Corners of his lips raised and cheeks just as red as before, a new text came, “I am so dirty. Yet I scrub dirt. I think of you coming there to take me. Master... I am so bad ! Please, scrub the dirt of me !”

When had Arthur learned to do this ? Francis could only look at the picture and palm himself through his pants, unbuckling his belt as he felt an erection coming. God... he was supposed to be at an important meeting, and yet he was there, looking at such lewd pictures of Arthur. Another text came. “Francis ?” Oh. Fuck, he hadn't said anything since the beginning, and since Arthur was the type to invent himself stories to believe in, it would probably be better for their sexual lives if he was to answer. “I'm here, bunny,” he typed, finding complicated to touch every over the letters on the screen with a single hands, but his eyes were simply _haunted_ by the vision of the folded apron, and the sightly lifted member... Jesus, there was no way _his_ Arthur Kirkland, an unrefined, rude Brit, could be so sexy !

“A naughty little thing you are... shouldn't you be scrubbing yourself already ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * broken trumpets sounds *  
> Well... comments are appreciated.
> 
> Side-notes, Emilio and Johann are Portugal and the Netherlands. Johann is a name I remember seeing in the French fandom, and... I think it's some Flemish alchemist ? Blegh, I'm not very good at names. Sorry. And Emilio is a little jab at Yanna and I's rp, in which Portugal is named Emilio because what a hot name.
> 
> Anyways u wu Stay tuned for more porn. I cut it in many parts to give me a bit of a inspirational boost.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for next part: coming soon in a theater close to you about tomorrow !


End file.
